


Of Arguments and Snowball Fights

by awkward_ace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Attempt at Humor, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Humor, I'm going to be murdered by my bestie, Listen to the dwarf, Making Up, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_ace/pseuds/awkward_ace
Summary: The Herald of Andraste and Commander Cullen Rutherford are at a bit of a disagreement, some might call it. After storming angrily in opposite directions, Advice Guru Varric approaches the Commander with some BEER! and a few words of wisdom about how-to-work-with-the-Herald because Cullen-can't-woman. In the course of making amends, a snowball fight is had. And a snowball is how Cullen and the Herald meet their snowy, cold ending.TL:DR--Never challenge Cassandra to a snowball fight, even accidentally.





	Of Arguments and Snowball Fights

What is a snowballs' chance in Hell, anyway?

 

“—We do not have the _numbers, the men_ to be able to pull off that sort of thing at the moment, and that is the end of this discussion!”

“I don’t _need_ a whole platoon or whatever it is, I can _do this_ —”

“Absolutely not.”

“Will you just _listen_?!”

The muffled arguing grew louder as the pair arguing came to the Chantry doors, paused before reaching them.

“I _did_ listen, and the answer is _no_. You will _not_ endanger yourself in such a manner, not without the proper forces behind you, which we _do not_ have!”

“But if I can just—”

“ _No_!”

“Ergh! You are the most aggravating—arrogant— _stubborn_ —”

“ _I’m_ stubborn? I’m not the one who is wanting to waltz into a ruin of a keep infested with undead and who knows what else practically _by myself_!”

“You’re treating me like a child!”

“Then _stop acting like one_ when I _do not_ go along with your…your… _mad_ schemes!”

“ _How_ am I supposed to not act like one when my so called _advisor_ acts more like a bloody _jailer_ instead of _advising_!”

“That is _hardly_ the situation, Herald, if you have been _listening_ —”

“I am listening! All I do is listen, but when I say I can _do_ something, it’s like I haven’t even spoken! Is it because I’m Dalish? I just need to shut up, let the humans do the planning, then smile pretty and do what they tell me?”

“ _What_? No! That isn’t _even—_ ”

“Well then it must be because I’m a _mage_ , and _clearly_ have no idea how the world works because I was locked up in a _Circle_ all my life with big, strapping, brave Templars like _you_ to protect me! Oh, wait! _I wasn’t_!”

“Sarcasm is hardly the appropriate way to handle this!”

“Then get the hell away from me so I don’t have to see you right now!”

“You are just— _fine.”_

“Fine!”

There was a crackle and the Chantry doors blew open, thudding loudly from the force, and the Herald stalked out, face dark and teeth bared in an enraged snarl. The Commander stalked out a moment later, heading in the opposite direction, scowling and muttering under his breath.

The people near the Chantry meekly went about their business, trying to pretend they hadn’t heard, and giving both a wide berth. Varric, having heard the argument, and having heard several like it before, sighed and watched the Herald take the steps three at a time and vanish outside the gates.

She’d be gone until dark. Or at least no one would see her until then, probably.

The dwarf rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully, then headed for the tavern, procured two flagons of brown ale and went to Cullen’s tent.

Cullen was leaning over his camp desk, staring intently down at a map, fingers drumming furiously.

“Knock knock,” Varric said as he stepped inside.

“No,” Cullen replied.

“Aw, c’mon, Curly, you’ve been working hard all morning. Take a break. Have a drink!”

He set one of the flagons on the desk and made himself comfortable in the single chair.

Cullen continued to glare down at the map.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to make it spontaneously combust.”

That seemed to be exactly what the human wanted to do. Varric leaned back in the chair, “Want to talk about it?”

“That _woman!_ ” Cullen exploded, pushing away from the desk, making it rock. The flagon rattled and sloshed some of its contents onto the map.

“Yep,” Varric said, smirking a little.

“That _woman_ is the most—most— _insufferable, reckless, stubborn_ —!”

“Uh-huh.”

“ _There is no reasoning with her!_ ”

“You should try—here’s the trick— _not treating her like a soldier._ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have _hardly_ —”

“Okay, fine, then try not treating her like a delicate flower. She’s a person! She’s even a person who likes people—that’s more than I can say for some of us here.”

Cullen gave him a side-long look that said the human was fairly sure that had been directed at him, but he wasn’t quite sure enough to make something out of it.

“I’m only trying to _protect_ —”

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, and that’s where you’re having problems. She doesn’t _need_ a protector, she needs partners who trust that she’s capable of handling herself but are right there to back her up when she _does_ need a hand. She isn’t some sheltered Circle mage, she’s an unrestrained Dalish mage who likes sneaking after wild animals and collecting plants—you gotta let her do her thing. It works.”

Cullen sighed and pinched his nose, trying to alleviate the headache that was pounding behind his eyes. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, and now the Herald had it in her mind to storm a keep essentially on her lonesome.

“I understand that she’s having to make adjustments, but she still can’t just go off doing everything she wants to when it comes to mind.”

“Says who?”

“What?”

“Says who? You? She’s done everything you have asked her to do so far, and then when she does what she wants, it has worked out _unnervingly_ well. So, why can’t she keep doing that? Is it just some human thing? She’s not quite fitting what was expected so now you have to freak out?”

“I am _not_ —”

“What’s her name?”

Cullen paused, blinked several times as he tried to find where the conversation skipped to. Why was he even _having_ this conversation? With _Varric_ , of all people?

“What—“

“What’s her name, Curly?”

“It’s—it’s Pria—what has that got to do…?”

“And did you _ask_ her, or did she tell you and then _ask_ that you call her that?”

“I…she asked—it’s hardly appropriate though, there’s—”

“Blah, blah, blah, look, she was Pria Lavellan before something blew a big damn whole in the sky and she was unlucky enough to end up with the thing that can close it. She’s still going to be Pria Lavellan after all this shit is figured out, if shit doesn’t get her killed for some reason or another. She’s still a person who needs things, just like your soldiers need things, Commander. Let’s try to keep that in mind, huh?”

The Commander frowned, “I don’t think I’ve been treating her badly.”

“Didn’t say that, though now that you mention it you have been a little _testy_ the last few days. You could ease up on that, maybe. She allied with the Templars for you, y’know.”

“She—she what?”

“Yeah, she decided to go to them first for you. Agonized over it for days. I should know, I was the one getting agonized at. She knew it was important to you, so there you go. That’s the sort of person she is. Dragged my ass all over the Hinterlands to find some woman’s dead husband’s ring for her, and damned if she didn’t find the thing because it was _important_ to someone.”

Cullen ran his hand through his hair, slowly sank down to sit on the edge of his cot.

“I know you left the Order and all that, Curly, but you can still be an intense guy—she’s a mage in a war zone that _very much_ does not like free mages. Or elves much, for that matter. Just…try to cut each other some slack,” Varric got to his feet, started to make his way out of the tent, paused.

“Oh, and try talking to her outside the war room more often,” he added, “She’s funny. You could use a little socializing.”

Cullen picked up the tankard left on his desk once Varric was gone and downed the thing quickly, wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

He probably was being somewhat unfair—or maybe at least being too unyielding. The Herald _had_ done everything they’d suggested, to the best of her ability, at this point. Her wanting to storm a keep was still rather fool-hardy but maybe…maybe he had reacted a bit poorly. Really, all he _did_ want was to keep her _safe_ , that was his _job_ —

_No. It’s because she’s the most beautiful person I’ve seen in years and all I want is to see her come back here safely so I can see her smile at me again._

He sighed and got to his feet, ducked out of his tent to begin his search for the Herald. He needed to clear the air.

*****

_I don’t understand how someone can hide so **thoroughly** here, it’s not even a real forest. The area isn’t **that**_ _big_.

A search of Haven, its roofs, and its rafters had shown no sign of the Herald, and he had been looking in the trees around Haven for at least an hour now with no luck. She hadn’t been at the dock, either.

_And of course, none of her circle are being helpful at all_ …

Sera had just snickered at him when she found him looking, Solas had shaken his head in amusement, Vivienne had only seen her stalking from the Chantry, Cole was…well, Cullen tried to avoid going near that… _thing_ because it made his skin crawl, and Blackwall had given him a pitying look while Bull patted him sympathetically on the head, snickering. He felt like that had been a little uncalled for.

_Maker, not even any footprints, what did she do, fly?_

Why was he doing this? He was trying to find a Dalish elf in a wooded environment, one that she had admitted to favoring. This was stupid. He would not find her unless she wanted to be found.

Something cold and damp hit the back of his head and he started, hand flying back to touch, to check—and snow. It was snow. A snowball.

“ _Really_?” he asked aloud. “A snowball, was that _really—”_

The Herald silently swung down from the tree branch she had been hidden in, planting her feet firmly in his chest as she let go of the branch, sending him tumbling back into the snow and her falling after him to land in a crouch, straddling his waist.

“You are loud and unobservant,” she told him flatly, “I have been following you the last quarter of an hour and you never heard me. If you were my enemy, you would be dead. If you were a fat rabbit, you would be dinner.”

She leaned down, so close he could almost feel her eyelashes brush his skin, felt her lips barely touch his. They tingled. It was so tempting to tilt his head, _just a little_ , to close that tiny distance and kiss her. _Maker, I want to._

“Do you see how taking a keep might be feasible for me, Commander? I don’t _have_ to use the front door, like your soldiers do.”

Her eyes were a clear blue that had the littlest bit of purple ringing the edge, and they were wide and round and deep, framed by thick, long eye lashes. They reminded him of the flowers that had shown up in the yard of his parents’ house every spring when he was a child. He and his sister would pick bunches of them and his mother would put them in cups of water and set them all over the house.

“I don’t mean to belittle your capability,” he replied quietly, “I just don’t want to hear that something has happened to you. Not when I could have stopped it.”

“I don’t _need_ your protection, Commander. I’m not a soft little sheltered woman who needs a big strong man to hide behind, and I’m not some Circle mage who you must _watch_ , else I lose my own head because there’s no _possible_ was a mage can be competent and _free_.”

He flinched, and he saw her eyes fasten on his face, watched her expression slip away from the stoic mask she’d been using to one of curiosity and concern before her face smoothed and went blank again.

“That isn’t…that isn’t what I mean, either,” he said. “I just want to be _useful_ to you.”

Her lip curled faintly, not a smile but a sneer of displeasure. He felt his heart sink a little. _I don’t know why I’m disappointed. She flirts with everyone, it’s not as if it meant anything._

“You’re not a tool, you idiot,” she said, “So don’t say things that make you sound like a _thing_.”

She stood up, her feet still on either side of his waist, and looked down at him, “I need you to listen. _Listen_. And I need you to be there to…to watch my back. To help me when I need it. Just…support me. It’s fine if you disagree, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m _wrong_.”

_I think you’re the most **right** thing in the world right now, and I can’t even tell you that._

“I can do that,” he replied, accepted the hand she offered to help him to his feet. “I’m sorry for being so short with you. I just…I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know. Not much use for a dead or crippled Herald, right?” she said with a faint smile, “I’m sorry, too, for what it’s worth. For being so stubborn.” Cullen frowned.

_Andraste help me, I want to kiss that look off your face._

“No, I…I mean _you_. I don’t want to see _you_ hurt. It has nothing to do with…with you being the Herald.”

She tilted her head, looking him over thoughtfully, long enough that he felt his face flush a little and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “We…we should get back,” he said, distractedly. “Before people worry.”

“Mm. Yeah. They might think you were attacked by a savage Dalish here in the woods. Maybe kidnapped to be forced to do their wicked bidding.”

His flush deepened and he grinned, “Well, they’d be half right. I was attacked.”

“By a snowball.”

“Projectile weapon. Still an assault. On your own Commander, no less.”

“Should’ve kept your shield up.”

The teasing smirk she gave him made his stomach twist up into pleasant knots while at the same time sending a little thrill down his back. He laughed. She was funny. Funny and smart and so unapologetically _her_.

_I think I might love you._

“Is it better to ask forgiveness or seek permission?” he asked.

She gave him an odd look, then thought about it. “Ask forgiveness,” she answered after a moment.

He nodded, “I thought you might say that. I’m asking your forgiveness in advance then, my lady.”

“For wha— _Cullen!”_

She shrieked as he stooped and easily lifted her up, tossed her over his shoulder as he began to walk back to haven. Then she started laughing.

“If you drop me, you’re in so much trouble!”

“Don’t wriggle so much then.”

“Well I can hardly be expected to just _go along_ with this…although…”

He raised an eyebrow at her suddenly pensive tone. “Although…?”

“I do have a very nice view of your backside from the perspective.”

His face went red, “Herald!”

“What? It was a complimentary observation.”

“Maker’s breath.”

She laughed, almost a giggle, and he felt a grin sneaking onto his face despite the embarrassment (although he was a trifle pleased, if he was being honest with himself).

“Can I walk on my own feet now? Or would you prefer the majority of the Inquisition army see their Commander hauling around the Herald of Andraste like a sack of potatoes?”

“Well, since you put it that way…”

He gently shifted her into his arms and then set her on her feet. She shivered faintly, curled against him for the moment he held her, arm around his neck to steady herself. He could feel her warm skin through her shirt, felt her strong back and legs flexing. His hand sat comfortably in the curve of her waist. Her fingertips gently brushed the back of his neck, just tracking into his hair.

His breath sighed out quietly at the resulting pleasurable tingle.

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Of course, Herald.”

“You really can call me ‘Pria’, you know,” she told him as they fell into step together, reaching out to run her hand over a large boulder, shifting its snowing covering, sliding it between her fingers.

“I shouldn’t,” he replied, a touch regretfully.

She made a dismissive noise and rolled her eyes. “Shemlen and their titles. It’s like I’m back in the clan again, everyone always a little wary because I’m the Keeper’s First,” she said wryly. “I’m going to pelt you with snow if you use it again.”

He raised an eyebrow, and, despite his better judgement, tested. “Herald.”

A sloppy snowball was flung towards his face and he hastily ducked. She was grinning when he straightened, “That was sort of stupid of you.”

“It was,” he agreed, “What does that mean? Being the Keeper’s First?”

Pria sighed, heavily, her breath clouding out from her mouth. “It means that I am being taught the history and traditions of my people, what we have of it, anyway. When Keeper Deshenna passes, I will take her place and ensure that our ways continue, and I will guide and lead the clan. It’s…a great honor.”

Her voice had gone a little flat, and hollow. Her pretty, long ears drooped.

“You…don’t sound like you believe that,” Cullen observed, quietly.

“I believe it.”

“You don’t want it, then.”

“What I want doesn’t really matter, Cullen. I’ll do my duty. Seal the Breach, save the world. Go back home, and then be Keeper. Maybe find a nice Elvhen fellow I can tolerate the rest of my life and have a child or two.”

She glanced at him, must have seen the distressed expression he knew had come onto his face, completely misinterpreted why he was distressed. Duty he understood, it was the thought of her finding someone, someone who was not _him_ , and “tolerating” them the rest of her life. Her, being unhappy. Which was ridiculous because as it stood, there was nothing except, perhaps, a professional friendship and it wasn’t like he realistically even had a _chance_ with someone like _her_.

“It’s not much different from you or Cassandra,” she smiled a bit, “Duty calls, you answer. Duty calls, I answer. Someone has to.”

“I—That’s not—I made a choice.”

“So did I. Now stop looking so upset. Your face is too pretty to look that way.”

He felt himself go red again and cleared his throat, “Herald, you really shouldn—”

A snowball came at him and he lifted an arm, barely in time to block it from splattering in his face.

“I warned you, Commander.”

“ _Herald, please—”_

This one did splatter in his face and he sputtered, hastily brushing it off, shivering as bits slid off and under his armor, melted into his shirt. “ _Maker’s breath_!”

She was laughing, rather wickedly, at that, and he glowered at her. “Right,” he muttered, and leaned down to scoop up a handful of snow. She yelped and took off running, still laughing as he flung the snowball after her, shrieked as it hit her back.

“Oh, it is _on_ , ser!”

“You started this!”

One came sailing his way and he ducked, scooped up another handful, and the war began, continued as they made their way to the edge of the camp outside Haven. It continued, and grew, a few soldiers joining in when errant snowy missiles found them, playful insults and laughter hurling through the air, as they came _into_ the camp.

It all ended, suddenly and with deadly quiet, when a snowball arced through the air, and exploded with a pluff of flakes on the back of Cassandra’s head. She froze. Everyone froze, a collective, sharp breath being taken.

Pria, eyes wide, looked at an equally wide eyed Cullen.

“ _Shit_ ,” he muttered under his breath. They were both pretty sure he had been the one to throw that particular snow ball.

Cassandra’s hand came up and brushed the back of her hair, her neck, lowered, her glove covered in fine flakes. She slowly turned, face stony, eyes sharp and gleaming.

“Who,” she said in a low, reasonable tone, “Threw that?”

“Oh, you are _so dead_ ,” Pria whispered.

“I want my ashes scattered over a lake,” he whispered back.

“ _Who threw that?_ ”

Soldiers, Herald, and Commander took a quiet, careful step back as the Seeker stalked forward, eyeing every person individually, sharply, appraisingly. Cullen and Pria froze as her gaze landed on them.

_This is it. This is how I die. At the hands of my best friend. Maker, let it be quick._

“ _You_ ,” she snapped. “ _Really? This is what you’re doing with your time?!”_

_Run away, live to fight another day, I think Varric says?_

“Herald, I believe you wanted to take a keep, did you not?” Cullen asked, taking another hasty step back as Cassandra advanced on them.

“I did, indeed, Commander, shall we go plan that?” Pria answered, her voice equally amused and alarmed.

Maker bless her quick uptake. _I really do think I love you._

“Yes, please.”

In the same instant, they pivoted on their heels and broke into a run up the path to the gates. Cassandra was only a moment behind them, thundering up the steps with vengeance written on her face.

Later that evening, the following chase and the ending of the Commander and the Herald was the talk of the tavern. The snow drifts at the side of the Chantry were particularly deep, and powdery soft, difficult to get out of. Waves and waves of uproarious laughter spilled out into the cold night air as the story of the Seeker bodily tossing Herald and Commander into the drifts was retold over and over, getting a little more lavish each time.

The laughter only doubled when Varric told them that the resulting commotion of being tossed and struggled back to their feet made a large sheet of snow slide off the Chantry roof and further bury the two leaders and that Cassandra had now been dubbed “Lady Lion-Tosser” and unofficial snowball fight champion.

Neither Cullen nor Pria looked the Seeker in the eye for a day or so afterwards, and any further snowball fights were kept well outside of camp, no matter who was involved.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super in favor of Cullen/Cassandra as a badass platonic couple, because they're both squishy sweeties at heart and would function well together as a partnership. Shit would get DONE, SON. And I'm also super in favor of Cassandra being able to physically toss Cullen's silly tail into a snow bank when he starts acting stupid.
> 
> Don't trample my dreams.
> 
> We all know who is really in charge of the Inquisition.


End file.
